The feelings of Return Kingdom when he saw the Quaker come galloping up to the cabin door, his beloved mare wet with perspiration, and closely followed by their own horse, riderless, were different than he had ever experienced. He had never known the true meaning of fear and never had he known a moment when his courage and hope seemed to desert him so entirely as now.
228

There flashed upon his mind a picture of John Jerome’s body stretched in the snow as he had seen Quilling’s; of the lone Indian stooping over it to secure the awful trophy of his silent warfare against the whites. With his old-time determination, however, the lad shook off these fearful thoughts, and as Theodore Hatch’s feet touched the ground, was at his side.

“John—?”

Ree could not ask the question in his mind. His voice sunk to a husky whisper.

“Verily, I do not know,” said the Quaker in hushed, frightened tones. “I thought he was on his horse until but a little while ago. An Indian attacked me and I escaped. I thought thy friend was coming on behind till I chanced to look back, a mile from here.”

“Tell me all about it just as quick as you can, Mr. Hatch.” There was pleading and yet an imperative command in Kingdom’s voice.

“We were midway betwixt here and the Indian town, but I scarce know what happened. A savage in hiding behind a tree leaped out upon me and would have seized me but Ph?be bounded beyond his reach, nor stopped till now. Thy beloved friend was behind me. His horse kept close up and I thought the lad was with me till but a few minutes since.”
229

“Were no guns fired? Did you hear John cry out?”

“Verily, I know not.”

“It may be that John was swept off his horse by the low limbs of a tree,” said Ree, hope coming to him with the thought. “Was it the lone Indian—the one you saw before, who attacked you?”

“I cannot say—I cannot say.”

The Quaker was trembling violently from his exertion and fright, and Ree pitied him, though he almost despised the man who could give only so wretched an account of what had happened, when information was so badly needed.

“Mount your mare and come after me. Show me the place where you were attacked.”
230

Kingdom seized his rifle, which was always within reach, and at one bound was upon Neb’s back. The Quaker began a protest, but the lad did not—would not—hear. It was now quite dark and the howling wind and penetrating cold added to the hardship of the work to be done and lessened the likelihood of success; but the man dared not disobey the boy’s command.

The sweeping gale was fast filling in the path the horses had made along the trail to the Indian town, but the animals themselves were able to find it, though in the darkness the men would not have been. The Quaker recollected the point at which he had first missed John and there Ree dismounted and walked. But it was no use; for, though often he mistook a half-buried log or stump for the body of him he sought, he discovered nothing in the darkness which would indicate whether John had been killed or carried off, or had only fallen, wounded, from his horse.

Not until they had reached the village of the Delawares did the searchers pause in their hunt. Theodore Hatch had been unable to locate definitely the spot at which he was attacked, and Ree pushed on to the Indian town hoping to find some tidings. But neither Gentle Maiden nor any of the others could give any information.
231

“Has the lone Indian been seen near here to-day?”

The question revealed Ree’s secret fear.

“He has not been here,” the girl answered. “Gentle Maiden would tell the white brother if he had come or gone. His hate is deep, his gun shoots straight. His war is his own war.”

There was sadness in the Indian maiden’s voice which betrayed her own fears. Thus did she confirm her white friend’s belief that John had fallen a victim of the solitary savage whose thirst for revenge upon the whites knew no limit.

What was the reason of the bitter, personal, persistent warfare he carried on? In his heart, as the thoughts stirred his kindly nature to vengefulness, Ree vowed that he would not quit the country of the Ohio until he had killed this lone Indian, and without John he would remain no longer than he should need to complete that task.
232

The Quaker would have remained in the Indian village for the remainder of the night, and the Indians, roused from their slumbers by the arrival of the white men, invited Ree, also, to stay, but he would not think of it. Back along the trail, therefore, the boy walking, the Quaker astride his mare, the two plodded the weary miles to the cabin again, searching all the way for the body they dreaded to find.

Ree fed the jaded horses when home was reached, and the exhausted Quaker, lying down, was soon asleep, hugging his prized saddle bags with one arm beneath his pillow, as usual.

For the younger man there was no rest. He put the rude snowshoes he had made, in order, and broiled and ate portions of a wild turkey he had caught in the deep snow while making the rounds of their traps in the absence of his chum and Mr. Hatch during the day. He reloaded his two pistols and refilled his powder horn and bullet pouch, then waited.
233

Impatiently he spent the remaining hour or two until the first sign of daylight, and then, awakening the Quaker, cautioned him to remain near the cabin and watch closely for any indication of danger. He feared that Duff and Dexter might chance to visit the vicinity, and knew they would not hesitate to kill the old gentleman, to procure his portion of the divided fortune letter, if they found him alone.

The morning was breaking over the bleak, wintry forest as Ree set forth. With two pistols in his belt, his rifle over his shoulder and food and medicine in the pouch hung at his side, he had no concern for his own safety; but he did fear deeply for one he loved more.

He went at once along the trail toward the Indian town, closely scrutinizing the drifted snow and the trees and bushes on both sides thereof. Nowhere did he find the least encouragement until he came to a great poplar tree about which there was evidence that the snow had been disturbed and tramped down the day before, though the traces were now well-nigh obliterated.
234

The place answered to the meager description Theodore Hatch had given of the spot at which the assault was made, but in his uncertainty the anxious boy knew but one thing to do. He hurried on, resolving, if he found no better clue, to return and look far and wide about this spot in hope of discovering some sign of tracks leading away from it.

With desperate haste the unhappy boy traversed the trail clear back to the Delaware town. The Indians were astir and two boys, Flying Fish and Little Wolf, were preparing to go hunting with bows and arrows. They were equipped with snowshoes and ready for a long journey. Both offered to join the “white brother” in his search, but Ree thanked them and told them only that if they discovered any trace of the missing one to carry word to the town and the cabin as quickly as they could. He would reward them w............